


Of Crimson Joy

by MrsHamill



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Porn, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6037993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In a sheltered garden of the Jedi Temple, there kneels a boy, a Jedi padawan.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Crimson Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the 'zine, _Songs of Experience, Songs of Innocence_. Huge thank-yous to HiperBunny, for her help in the ritual; Fox, for channeling Qui-Gon so Obi-Wan could argue with him; Lisa-Binky, who listened while I ranted then patted me on the head and told me what to do; and Claude, who once again let herself be used as a sounding board and beta. Better friends I couldn't ask for. As large a thanks to Emu and Gloriana for accepting this for their beautiful 'zine and performing the final beta on it.

_O Rose thou art sick._  
The invisible worm,  
That flies in the night  
In the howling storm:  
   
Has found out thy bed  
Of crimson joy:  
And his dark secret love  
Does thy life destroy.

_The Sick Rose_ by William Blake

* * *

In a sheltered garden of the Jedi Temple, there kneels a boy, a Jedi padawan. His clothing is homespun, rougher and simpler than regulation tunics, and is awry, as if hastily donned. He is barefoot.

His face is wet with tears, but his eyes are closed and his face composed as he meditates. 

The blood staining the seat of his trousers is the same shade as the roses growing near him. 

* * *

At the tender age of fourteen, Obi-Wan Kenobi's master began instructing him in the art of fighting with a lightsaber. The Temple's initiates were trained almost before they could walk in the use their 'sabers, until such instrument became an extension of themselves. Fighting -- sparring -- against a living opponent was taught in theory and sometimes in practice, but it took a master to refine the talent, to hone the skill. Obi-Wan was an apt pupil and learned to fight with the same joy as he took in his other lessons, which was something that gave his master pause.

It was late afternoon. Alone in one of the smaller gymnasiums, they were cooling down after a long and involved session. As they calmed, it became obvious to the master that the give and take of battle still had his padawan in thrall. Walking the circuit of the room, Obi-Wan continued to swing his unlit 'saber back and forth -- thrust, parry, slice, dodge, pirouette -- cutting down hordes of enemies only he could see. 

Qui-Gon Jinn frowned as he watched his padawan's movements. Obi-Wan turned in time to see the frown and blinked in confusion. "Master?"

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan, I was distracted, thinking." Qui-Gon turned away, but Obi-Wan persisted.

"About what? Am I doing well in my training?" Sudden insecurities seemed to creep up on Obi-Wan, attacking him out of the blue, sometimes strangling his thoughts and movements with doubt. Qui-Gon had assured him it was a product of his age, and he should dismiss the feelings for what they were. Qui-Gon also knew that a fourteen year old would have difficulty in doing so.

"You're doing very well, young Padawan. That is not where my thoughts were taking me."  

"Then... what?"

Slowing his feet, Qui-Gon came to a stop and turned to look at Obi-Wan. The boy's face cleared as Qui-Gon erased the frown. After a long moment, he drew in a breath and spoke. "How often do you suppose Jedi knights use their 'sabers in actual combat, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan blinked. "I don't... I don't know." It was obviously an unexpected question. "I've never really thought about it."

"The average Jedi, one who has taken the warrior-diplomat path as I have done, as you are doing, finds combat with his 'saber two times a year, on average." Qui-Gon paused to let that sink in before continuing. "And one of those two times is generally in the Temple, at exhibition or games."

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. The boy was coming along well and Qui-Gon had to tamp down a surge of pride. "Then why... why do we learn to do it?"

"We learn because we do not know what the Force will expect us to do," Qui-Gon replied. "We must always be cautious, we must always expect the worst, even while hoping for the best. And..." Qui-Gon took a deep breath before continuing. "And there are some of us whom the Force blesses with extra attention, some of us who break the average." Qui-Gon knew the pain of memory showed on his face by Obi-Wan's reaction. "Think on that, my apprentice, while you wash and finish your lessons for the day." He turned away before Obi-Wan could speak further.

He fervently hoped that he wouldn't have to explain in greater depth for many years, though he knew he should.

* * *

When Obi-Wan Kenobi was sixteen, less than a fortnight short of his seventeenth birthing day, he and his master were sent to Amaro III, a planet seeking help in resolving its internal differences. 

"It's a polytheistic society, then?" Obi-Wan asked. They were aboard a small shuttle heading towards their assignment, doing some last-minute reading.

"Yes." Qui-Gon looked up from his mission briefing. There was only one chair in the cramped quarters of the shuttle, and Obi-Wan had opted to lounge on the floor at Qui-Gon's feet. "Amaro III, while technologically on a par with the rest of the galaxy in many ways, still retains its somewhat antiquated religions."

"I think it's rather sweet," Obi-Wan commented with a half smile.

Keeping his own smile off his face with practiced ease, Qui-Gon raised one eyebrow. "Sweet?"

"Yes, exactly," Obi-Wan replied. "Too often, technologically advanced civilizations abandon their past and move into atheism. I've come to believe that this hurts them in the long run."

"You have?" Qui-Gon settled himself for a debate. "On what do you base that conjecture, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. That sly half-smile was still on Obi-Wan's face, telling Qui-Gon he was fully aware that he was pulling a fast one on his master. "Intuition."

Raising the other eyebrow, Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a look that mixed incredulity with amusement. "You're going to have to come up with a better line than that, Obi-Wan. You as well as I know how often 'intuition' is, in actuality, the subconscious--"

"--processing of data already gathered. Yes, Master. I know." 

Qui-Gon had been finding it increasingly impossible to keep a stern mask before the impish smile and cheery good nature of his padawan. He avoided thinking about it as often as he could. "Then you know that what you call intuition is probably the result of some subconscious reckoning on your part. If you trace the idea back to its source, I've no doubt that you'll be able to come up with a much stronger base in this matter, Padawan." He reached out and cupped Obi-Wan's face in his hand, running his thumb over a proud cheekbone. "Perhaps I should task you with an additional assignment to determine that."

"Oh, Master, please." Obi-Wan's eyes rolled and he laughed. "If I promise to _subconsciously_ work on the problem -- as well as meditate on it -- would that suffice?"

"We shall see." Qui-Gon turned back to his work, suppressing the urge to touch further out of long practice.

* * *

  
After a long and harrowing month, master and apprentice were on the same ship, returning to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant from Amaro III. The two of them were incredibly weary, indescribably tired, damaged and raveled and numb. Embarkation and lift-off from Amaro III was a blessing rather than a chore, and Qui-Gon wasn't sure that he wasn't sleep-walking.

Concern over his padawan forced him into movement finally. Qui-Gon went aft and found Obi-Wan sitting on his bunk with his head drooping, his hands dangling between his spread knees. His tunics were stained and burnt, his body filthy, his boots cracked and scuffed -- in short, he looked much as Qui-Gon did. With a sigh, Qui-Gon knelt down on the floor before him and wrapped his hands around Obi-Wan's thighs, making his grip as gentle as his voice. "You need -- we need -- to bathe, Obi-Wan." 

Obi-Wan didn't reply. Tenderly, carefully, Qui-Gon began peeling the distasteful layers off, setting most of it aside to be destroyed. When he lifted Obi-Wan's hands, he was appalled to discover dried blood crusted in the cuticles of Obi-Wan's nails and the lines of his palms. 

"It's not going to come off." Obi-Wan's voice sounded hoarse and strained.

"Yes, it will." Qui-Gon spoke firmly, imbuing his voice with as much reassurance as he could, given that his voice was equally raw. "It will come off, Obi-Wan. Soap and water will remove it."

"No, it won't." 

There was no answer save for more reassurance, more platitudes, so Qui-Gon remained silent. It had been a terrible mission, a disaster almost from the start, and his young padawan had caught the brunt of it. 

Urging Obi-Wan to his feet, Qui-Gon continued stripping him of clothing. When he was naked, Qui-Gon tugged him into the direction of the 'fresher, removing his own clothing as he did so. Obi-Wan stood, motionless and unresponsive, while Qui-Gon got what water was available to the ship running in the stall before pulling the unresisting boy into it. 

With utmost care, Qui-Gon washed his padawan from head to foot, paying particular attention on his hands. Obi-Wan stood apathetic, neither commenting nor complaining. Over their training bond, Qui-Gon could feel almost nothing -- an icy darkness, an Obi-Wan-shaped hole where his padawan used to be. 

Once they were both as clean as possible, Qui-Gon shut off the thin flow of tepid water and wrapped one of the lightweight towels around Obi-Wan, blotting the excess water. Obi-Wan's eyes had closed and he stood, wavering, not helping but not hindering as he was dried. 

Ignoring his own dampness, Qui-Gon steered Obi-Wan out into the cabin again, rummaged for and found clean smallclothes and a worn pair of shorts for Obi-Wan to wear to bed. After dressing him, Qui-Gon laid his apprentice down on the too-narrow bunk, tenderly covering him with the blanket, pulling it up to his chin as though he were a babe in the creche and not a seventeen-year-old padawan. 

Obi-Wan's eyes opened as Qui-Gon began to pull away, and the pain revealed there nearly undid him. He perched on the side of the bed and smoothed Obi-Wan's still-damp hair off his forehead, giving a playful, gentle tug on his braid before speaking. "You need a trim." Any hope of re-establishing normalcy fled when Obi-Wan didn't respond, didn't even seem to hear. "Obi-Wan?"

"Why?"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and slumped. The hoarse voice of his padawan followed him, though, doggedly determined to understand that which was not understandable. "Because you had to," Qui-Gon finally replied. He opened his eyes and looked into the troubled ones of his apprentice. "Because she gave you no choice. Because it was the right thing to do."

"Because I'm a Jedi," Obi-Wan said bitterly. 

"In part." Qui-Gon did not try to hide his sadness. "If not you, then someone else. Someone who may have taken her life and not regretted it. You, at least, honored her life. She passed into the Force known and named."

Obi-Wan was shaking his head, and his tongue kept darting out to moisten his dry lips. "No. No, I can't accept that, what I did..."

"She gave you no choice, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon framed Obi-Wan's face with his large hands, forcing Obi-Wan to see him. "You were defending yourself and others."

"She was a child!" Obi-Wan began to shake, in anger, in pain, in disgust; Qui-Gon felt them all and heard them all when Obi-Wan spoke. "I knew her," he said, slowly and deliberately. "She was a child. She couldn't have been more than twelve standard. And I took her life. I ended her life before she'd had a chance to live."

"You defended yourself," Qui-Gon said. He lowered his voice, hoping to soothe, hoping to calm. "You defended yourself from attack. Yes, she was a child. But she was also a zealot, Obi-Wan. She was the worst kind of enemy: one who could not be reasoned with." 

"There should have been another way. There had to have been another way."

But there hadn't been. Obi-Wan had tried to reason with her, had argued with her, had even attempted to use a Force persuasion on her. But the child wouldn't listen, didn't want to listen, and Obi-Wan had killed her. Now Obi-Wan was trying to come to grips with his actions, actions that were, in part, contrary to the way of the Jedi -- the Jedi who were supposed to be the defenders of the living, not the takers of life. 

There was no sufficient preparation for this moment, nothing that any master could do to help ready a padawan for the trauma of taking a life. Obi-Wan's anger -- at himself, at the priests who had indoctrinated a child to be a killer, at the child herself for putting him in the situation -- was enormous, threatening to swamp their small room. His careening emotions gave Qui-Gon a terrible headache but he would endure, he would not make it worse for his struggling padawan by demanding those emotions be released to the Force, as was proper. Propriety be damned. 

This was something every Jedi dreaded, every Jedi worked hard to avoid, and only a few Jedi ever had to experience. Qui-Gon had. He had experienced the pain and anger of taking a life several times, and each time was as hard as the first. Obi-Wan was actually older than Qui-Gon had been when he lost this particular innocence, not that it made any difference. If it had been left to Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan would never have lost it at all.

Finally, Qui-Gon used a very subtle, very quiet Force suggestion to give Obi-Wan over into the arms of sleep. Leaving the bunk only long enough to dress, Qui-Gon returned and pulled Obi-Wan to him, determined to stay awake forever, if need be, to guard his apprentice's dreams. Obi-Wan smelled both good and bad to him -- clean, finally, but sour as well, like the scent of old rust. It felt odd to Qui-Gon to hold his padawan so. It was something he hadn't done for years, since Obi-Wan was a boy. Now he was almost a man grown, he had reached his full height, was fiercely intelligent and startlingly beautiful. Qui-Gon swallowed and buried his nose in short, spiky hair.

Despite his resolution, exhaustion caught up with him as well, and he joined Obi-Wan in slumber.

* * *

Obi-Wan was less than a fortnight past his seventeenth birthing day when they returned from Amaro III. Immediately after their mission report, they were summoned for mandatory counseling by the Temple's healers. Both master and padawan were to go; it was the standard procedure when a Jedi took a life. The healers knew how traumatic it was, and would not be gainsaid. Qui-Gon might not like the healers, might think that they were unnecessary, but he understood the whys of the procedure. He knew it worked, and just as he often held to the spirit of the Jedi Code, rather than the letter, he followed this procedure.

The problem was, it didn't seem to be working, not with Obi-Wan, at any rate.

Finally realizing that, Qui-Gon surprised himself by speaking, by calling attention to it. "This cannot continue. We need to talk, Padawan."

Obi-Wan slouched across their small table from Qui-Gon, toying with his latemeal. His head was propped in one hand. "Do we?"

"I think so." Qui-Gon looked down at his own plate and realized he wasn't hungry any longer. He shoved it aside. "I know you're speaking with the healers--"

"He told me what we said was confidential." Obi-Wan didn't look up but his voice was clipped.

"It is. As mine is. The master and apprentice bond does not supercede privacy when warranted." When Obi-Wan didn't say anything further, Qui-Gon continued. "Perhaps... since we were there together, we could discuss what happened, together. Deconstruct it. Force an understanding, perhaps." Obi-Wan remained silent, not moving, and Qui-Gon took it as encouragement. "Obi-Wan, I'm your master, I should... I am always here to help you."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "I don't see how you could help me when I've already been undergoing the mandatory counseling, but if you must..." It wasn't the most auspicious of beginnings, but it was something.

Except that now the opening was there, Qui-Gon had no idea what to do with it. "Let's clear the dishes and then go sit down with some tea."

Cleaning up was the work of a few moments, not enough time for Qui-Gon to think of a good way to air his concerns. Once they were both seated on the sofa with cups of tea neither wanted, Qui-Gon struggled to find the words he needed. "Tell me..." He swallowed, feeling ridiculous. He was a master, for Force's sake, not a nervous, first-mission padawan. "Do you think... "

"I know what you want me to say, Master. And I know the mind healers are trying, but..." Obi-Wan picked at a nub in the fabric of the sofa. "Master, I don't think there is anything a mind healer can do for me." He wouldn't look at Qui-Gon, even though Qui-Gon ducked his head to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "And anyway, it hardly matters. I was the one who was there; the mind healers have no idea what happened. How can they help me if they don't know what I went through? If they weren't there?"

"I was with you," Qui-Gon gently reminded him. "I know what you went through, I know what you're going through."

Obi-Wan shook his head sharply and settled back, deeper into the pillows of the couch. "You told me this might happen. You told me it would be different for every Jedi. Logically, therefore, you cannot know what I'm going through." 

"You're extending the metaphor, Obi-Wan, that's hardly logical thinking." Obi-Wan shrugged and Qui-Gon sighed silently. "I know you're not sleeping."

That caught Obi-Wan by surprise -- his eyes darted over to Qui-Gon's then just as quickly turned away. Apparently Obi-Wan didn't know that Qui-Gon had been monitoring his sleep, or lack thereof, which again only pointed to how distracted he was. 

"Nightmares are to be expected," Obi-Wan said shortly. "You told me this yourself."

"Nightmares, yes. Continuous night terrors are not..."

"Master--"

"Obi-Wan, I'm trying to help--"

"Don't, please, just... don't."

"Don't what? Care for you? Care about what happens to you? Padawan, you're falling apart. And I'm falling apart watching you." The last slipped out before Qui-Gon could apply his self-censor, and he winced, wishing to take them back.

Obi-Wan slouched further into the couch and let his head loll back on the cushions until he was looking at the ceiling -- or would have been, had his eyes not been screwed shut. "I keep seeing her. Every time I close my eyes I see her face as I killed her." The words sounded as if they had been wrenched out, through a deep maze of anger and hurt. "They've encouraged me to cry, you know. The healers say it's a form of catharsis for humans. And I have." His voice began to lessen as he spoke. "I've wept for her. For her planet. For me." Whispering, finally, he said, "For you."

Qui-Gon swallowed, failing to moisten his dry throat. Why would Obi-Wan feel he needed to weep for Qui-Gon? "You made the right choice."

After a moment, Obi-Wan said, "So you've told me, over and over again. So the healers have told me." Now he spoke through gritted teeth; his jaw was so tightly clenched Qui-Gon could see the muscle jump. "The truth of the matter is _I killed a child_. A twelve-year-old child, who could hardly have been construed to be a threat to a fully-trained Jedi. And I ran her through -- no, I _spitted_ her on my 'saber and she _died_."

Qui-Gon closed his own eyes and sagged further into his seat as he fought to find more words, words that might help heal. Finally, looking down at his hands, he confessed, "I don't know what else to tell you, Obi-Wan.  Being a Jedi is, at times, a terrible burden. There is great pain and insult in what we do, as well as great joy -- you know this is true. It may not be very masterly of me, but I do wish you hadn't had to learn this particular lesson in such a manner. However, it is not, unfortunately, unusual." He wanted a script to follow, to find words that would help instead of floundering. "I would like to say that this situation will never come up again, that you will never be asked to kill someone for the greater good, but I cannot."

"Killing Mim was for the greater good? How is that possible? How could killing a child be for the greater good?"

"Because she had made herself your enemy," Qui-Gon replied without heat. 

"She was under the control of the priests." Obi-Wan's hand sliced through the air, negating Qui-Gon's words. "She had no idea what she was doing. I could tell that within five seconds of talking to her."

"Regardless, the fact remains -- whether or not it was deliberate on her part, she had made herself your enemy. She had put innocents in peril by her actions. It had come to a point at which she wanted to kill you." Words, just words, words that had been spoken before, in different patterns. Qui-Gon knew it all, Obi-Wan knew it all. Useless. "Without your Jedi training, you couldn't have killed her, and would, therefore, now be dead."

"So I _shouldn't_ have killed her. If I couldn't stop her from killing innocents, it would have been better had she killed me. That would have been more in line with my training, with my dedication to the Light. I should have tried harder to stop her. I should have tried harder... I shouldn't have had to kill her." The bitterness in Obi-Wan's voice was thick enough to cut with a blade. 

"Everything your training has taught you has been double-sided, Obi-Wan. Your training has enabled you to be able to kill -- in self-defense, in aggression if necessary -- and yes, killing is never easy. It shouldn't be, for that way lies Darkness. You are able to save lives and are also able to take lives, sometimes simultaneously, as you did here. But there is nothing inherently good or Light about anything we do." Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan's leg, trying to get his padawan to look away from the ceiling, to look him in the eye. "It's _how_ we do it, Obi-Wan. It's the reasons why we do or we do not. The actions themselves are meaningless without the motivations."

"Motivations." Obi-Wan swallowed heavily and nodded slowly, pulling his head back from the cushions, though he still wouldn't look Qui-Gon in the eyes. "Here's my motivation. Here's what I've been thinking. If being a Jedi means that I'll have to kill children for the greater good... then I do not believe I can remain a Jedi."

"I won't allow that." Qui-Gon's refusal of Obi-Wan's words was quick and decisive and almost surprised him. "You are a Jedi. You are a good Jedi and you will be a great Jedi some day. You will get through this, you will stay a Jedi."

"That is not up to you, Qui-Gon Jinn." Ordinarily, the tone of Obi-Wan's voice would have earned him a reprimand from his teacher. "How do I even know... How do I even know that the Jedi are a force for good? You say we are of the Light... what does that mean? Just a moment ago, you said there's nothing inherently Light in any thing we do, so how do I know? Ever since I was a child, since before I could talk, I was taught to follow the Light. But no one has ever told me... What is the Light? Why are we... You teach me, you tell me the Light is good, how do I know that?"

"What does your heart tell you?" Qui-Gon demanded. "What do you feel in your soul?" This was not his Obi-Wan, this was not the light-hearted padawan, the child of his heart. The entire situation had spun out of control, and now Obi-Wan was not even Obi-Wan.

"What does my heart tell me? It tells me that what I've done isn't a part of the Light! What makes us better than others? The Force? You are always telling me you will do what you must... do what the Force tells you to do. Well, the Force is saying nothing to me -- nothing! All I know is that if being a Jedi means that I must go where I'm told to kill who I must, then I don't think I want any part of it." 

"The Force is speaking to you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon knew it was the truth, knew with every fiber of his being. The Force was trying to help Obi-Wan, was trying to help both of them. He may not have wanted to hear what the Force told him in the past, but he always listened, and so he made his next words as urgent and earnest as he could. "The Force is speaking to you -- you are not listening."

* * *

Over the course of the next few days, they continued to argue. They read philosophy to one another, they tried to meditate, but none of it worked. Obi-Wan sank deeper into hopeless anger as he proved incapable of releasing his guilt to the Force. He found his very inability to be a failure as well, compounding his sins. 

There was no Darkness in Obi-Wan, none at all. Qui-Gon knew that for a fact, was positive of it without reservation. The situation on Amaro Three was a lost cause long before they ever became involved. If anyone was slipping to the Dark Side, it was Qui-Gon, for wanting to return and destroy every last one of the priests who were ultimately responsible for his padawan's pain. The priests who used children to fight for them, die for them, without a thought of right or wrong, of morals or ethics.

But it would serve no purpose to point that out to Obi-Wan. He already knew it, they both knew it was true, but that knowledge brought no peace. Qui-Gon had always felt things deeply, just as Obi-Wan always had. Their difference lay only in how they expressed that feeling.

After the failure of the mind-healers to help him, after their attempt at conversations, Obi-Wan began a frenzy of activity. Qui-Gon knew what he was doing. Obi-Wan was trying his best to wear himself out in the hopes that exercise and activity would allow him the peace he craved. Awake before dawn, Obi-Wan would immediately begin: running, swimming, performing katas at full or faster speed. His schedule had him constantly on the move, never stopping to think, just movement followed by collapse to unconsciousness. The only thing he would not do was spar. Qui-Gon gave up trying to talk to him further, and just waited for the breakdown the healers had predicted.

Luckily for Obi-Wan, it happened while Qui-Gon was there to catch him. An extremely difficult kata he was performing ended up being beyond his level of exhaustion. He came down badly from a high aerial, twisting his entire left leg under him as he fell. Had his master not been there, he might have snapped his leg in two. As it was, Qui-Gon could tell it wasn't quite a sprain, but asking Obi-Wan to go to the healers resulted in a panic Qui-Gon could feel. Instead, they went home. Qui-Gon iced and elevated the injury and settled Obi-Wan onto the couch with a cup of tea and an analgesic.

"I've let you carry on like this in the hopes it would help you, but it's obviously not working. Obi-Wan, we need to resolve this before you injure yourself badly." Or before you kill yourself, Qui-Gon added without voice. 

"And how are we supposed to do that?" The bitter, acidic tone Obi-Wan used was becoming his standard and every word scoured Qui-Gon's heart. "I've tried... I've even tried going to Master Yoda. He only told me to meditate again. Master, I can't."

_I will not hurt my apprentice_ , Qui-Gon thought, as his mind tried to skitter away from the one thing, the last thing, the only thing, that might help his Obi-Wan. "Perhaps..."

"Master Yoda told me to try the Natural Garden," Obi-Wan said with a sigh. He didn't seem to have heard Qui-Gon speak. "It's probably the one place I haven't gone."

Snapping up the offered lifeline, Qui-Gon nodded almost eagerly. "That is a good idea, Obi-Wan. Let's try that and see if it helps. The Force is very close in the Natural Garden."

Though his eyes were shadowed with pain -- emotional and physical -- Obi-Wan agreed.

* * *

_I will not hurt my apprentice_.

Standing sentry at the door to the Natural Garden, wrapped up in monitoring Obi-Wan's meditation, Qui-Gon didn't notice Yoda approaching until he stood at the door. It was obvious Yoda understood the situation -- his ears drooped as he felt the Force. After a moment, he sighed. "No better, is he?"

"No." Qui-Gon continued to breathe deeply, releasing his fears as best he could to the Force.

"Hoped this would help, I did. Find his way back, he must." Yoda sighed again. "Help, he may need, but help he has, in you."

"Yes, Master." 

A scaly green claw rested on his knee, patted him gently. "Understand, I do," Yoda murmured. "Need you both the Jedi do. Help you, the Force will, but open to it, you must be."

Swallowing heavily, Qui-Gon bowed his head. The Force was the one thing in the universe he trusted completely. The Force had never betrayed him, never led him astray, never hurt him. After Xanatos, he had tried hard to listen better, to steep himself inside the Force in a more comprehensive way, hoping to avoid this or a similar situation.

Thoughts of Xanatos made him wince. His last padawan had gone through his first kill with remarkable ease, which should have been a red beacon right there. Even though Qui-Gon had since tried to listen better to the Force he had still gone astray -- again. He had failed. Again. But now he was coming to realize that this failure was worse, was even more painful, for Obi-Wan was not just his padawan. Obi-Wan, he knew now, was his heart, was the very center of him.

As Yoda turned to go back into the Temple, he added, "Xanatos, he is not. Strong he is, in the Light, and in your eyes. Like his master, he is. Like _your_ master, _you_ are _not_. Forget that you should not, Master Qui-Gon."

No, Obi-Wan was not like Xanatos, Qui-Gon agreed silently. And yes, if anything, Obi-Wan was more like Qui-Gon, in the tenderness of his mind and the gentleness of his spirit. Qui-Gon's master, Dooku, had seen a gentle spirit as a liability, and Qui-Gon still carried the scars from that belief. Yes, he still had thick scars from his training. But he also had come out of his apprenticeship with a tenacious resolve to always take the time to care, the time to notice things. 

"Know, you do, what may end this," Yoda added, and Qui-Gon had to tamp down panic, speaking sternly to hide his fear.

"No. I will not hurt my apprentice." 

"Hurting, your apprentice already is." Yoda slowly walked away, the heaviness of his step having nothing at all to do with his stature or age.

* * *

The sun was setting and the garden was growing dim. Qui-Gon left his post, finally, and walked into the riot of life to find his padawan. Obi-Wan knelt in the midst of a small clearing made by the shade of a giant tree. His face was wet, and his Force aura was just as chaotic as it had been at the beginning of his attempt to meditate.

Qui-Gon knelt in front of him and studied him in the graying light. When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, Qui-Gon spoke. "How do you feel?" he asked, though the answer lay in the tear tracks on Obi-Wan's cheeks. 

Mute, Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Perhaps if we..."

"Master, don't." Obi-Wan's voice was entirely defeated. He swallowed. "I..." He sagged. "Maybe there isn't a way out of this for me."

"There is, Obi-Wan, never doubt that." As if from far, far away, he felt his mouth open, heard words come out. "There is... there is a ritual."

Obi-Wan frowned, then wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

"It is called the Ritual of Affirmation. It is not widely used, and hasn't been, as far as I know, for decades." When he saw Obi-Wan was about to speak, Qui-Gon held up his hand. This was difficult enough for him to say, interruptions would only make matters worse. "The purpose of the ritual is to help a Jedi find his or her true calling, either within the Jedi or without." He fell silent again, releasing his feelings of panic. "I don't like to offer it to you, but as a last resort, perhaps it is appropriate."

He waited while Obi-Wan thought, while Obi-Wan gained wavering control of his thoughts and feelings. Finally, Obi-Wan nodded, mutely bowing his head in acquiescence. 

Qui-Gon swallowed back bile. "Very well. We must fast tonight, and meditate. At dawn, we will commence."

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan to his feet and together, they returned to their home in the Temple.

* * *

_I will not hurt my apprentice_.

The words were running in a continuous litany through Qui-Gon's mind as he assembled the things he would need for the ritual. Through sheer force of will, he kept his nausea over what was to come at bay. It was going to be extremely difficult for him, difficult for him to remember to keep his mind in the here and now. (How many times had he told his padawan to do so?) 

This ritual, this old, outdated thing could work, it could push Obi-Wan out of his pain and despair. Qui-Gon knew that it could also cement Obi-Wan's resolve to leave the Jedi. Though the thought of that increased his nausea, Qui-Gon forced himself to realize -- if it happened, it happened. The Force would... it would...

Just before dawn after his sleepless night, he went to Obi-Wan's room. He knew Obi-Wan hadn't been sleeping either -- there were dark circles under his eyes and his face was white. Not commenting, Qui-Gon drew Obi-Wan to the 'fresher, where things waited for him.

"The Ritual of Affirmation has started," Qui-Gon said. He winced internally at the sound of his voice. "You are abjured from speaking until it is over." Obi-Wan took a deep breath, looked down, pursed his lips and nodded.

Qui-Gon had piled items necessary to the ritual on the sink top, including rough clothing made from homespun cotton, scratchy to the touch and unsoftened, undyed -- even the undershorts, which would be uncomfortable to wear. These simplified tunics were rarely used, yet Qui-Gon had had no problems ordering them from the stores. "You will wear this clothing and you will remain barefoot. Before you put them on, however, you must cleanse yourself thoroughly, inside and out." Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide at the sight of the enema kit; he swallowed but remained silent. Qui-Gon picked up the anal device he had purchased the evening before -- off the infonet, since he thought few in the Temple would have such a thing. "Do you know what this is and its function?"

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, though he blinked in surprise. He touched the thing gently, testing its softness. "Once you are done, before you dress, insert it. There is plenty of oil for your use -- do not be stingy. The heat from your body will cause it to increase in size very slowly, but it should be virtually painless. When you are prepared, come to the common room." Without another word, Qui-Gon turned and left.

A bit over a half-hour later, Obi-Wan emerged from the 'fresher. He was walking carefully, favoring his ankle still, and his expression was preoccupied. Qui-Gon, who was dressed much as Obi-Wan was in the rough-feeling tunics, draped Obi-Wan's cloak around him, donned his own cloak, and led the way from their apartment.

The Temple was quiet in this hour of pre-dawn; the nocturnal Jedi would be retiring while the diurnal Jedi would be just rousing. Some Jedi appreciated the special time and sought it out for meditating, for the simple joys of watching the sun rise. That was not their errand, however; Qui-Gon led them down into the Temple, to the oldest parts of it, where few now went. Deep in the bowels of the Temple there was a room, with a high, domed ceiling and a black, scuffed marble floor. There were no windows this deep in the Temple, and what little light there was came from shielded sconces set into the walls. They did little to expose the room and shadows dwelt unchallenged on the icy cold floor and in distant corners.

Qui-Gon moved to the center of the room, Obi-Wan, as usual, two steps behind him. They both stopped, and Qui-Gon turned to look at Obi-Wan. He wanted to call a halt to this, to prevent what he knew would occur here, and shelter his Obi-Wan forever from harm, forever from pain. 

It was not to be. Obi-Wan was a Jedi, a warrior for the peace who had lost the peace of his soul. Ultimately, he looked to his master -- the man he trusted most in the universe -- to help him find his way, to help him regain his serenity and sense of purpose. It was the least Qui-Gon could do for this brilliant boy, for this young man who he had been blessed with, whom was in his charge.

He hoped he could complete the ritual, and not fail his Obi-Wan this time. He hoped he would be worthy of the trust Obi-Wan gifted him.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and began to circle Obi-Wan as he stood in the center of the room. There was no sound but the faint slap of flesh on cold, unfeeling marble. Obi-Wan at first tried to follow him with his eyes, but after a moment, cast his gaze down at the scuffed floor and stood, hunching into himself, dwarfed by his master and by the space of the huge, echoing chamber.

"You are a Jedi," Qui-Gon said, and the sound of his voice was almost shocking after the profound silence. "You are a Jedi, and you wear a Jedi's clothing. You hide." In Qui-Gon's mind, he heard another voice, a deeper, ringing voice, saying the same words -- he pushed that from his mind as he pushed away the discomfort from his freezing feet. Now was not the time to dwell in the past. He kept his eyes and his mind trained on Obi-Wan, did his best to refrain from remembrance.

Reaching out, Qui-Gon casually plucked the robe from Obi-Wan's shoulders, released it and let it puddle at his feet. "You hide behind your cloak as you do what you consider your duty. This robe hides a Jedi behind the shield of duty, it keeps him from the sight of others, lest he be contaminated by their very existence." 

Remembering the words of the ritual wasn't the difficult part. The worst was imbuing his voice with the scorn of the outsider, the one who would not see Jedi for what they were. He continued walking in his steady orbit, the cadence of numbed flesh on marble never slowing. He was a Jedi master, he could push aside his nausea and discomfort, especially if it would help his apprentice.

"You wear your bondage, even now." Deftly, Qui-Gon pulled the sash out and unwound it as he continued to pace. Obi-Wan's cheeks was stained with red, though he did not move other than to shiver. His shields were tight, preventing any feelings from escaping, but his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He did not know what to expect and he trusted his master to make things clear for him. Trusted his master not to hurt him further. "This is the bondage that you, as Jedi, are forced to wear. The Jedi are in bondage to the Force, and the Force makes the Jedi do its will -- whether you will or no." The sash joined the cloak on the floor.

"Your tabard is the mark of your zealotry," Qui-Gon continued, tugging at the unsecured garment and letting it fall as well. "Your bigotry is blatant; being a Jedi means you are better than all others, means you hold yourself over them. It is the fanaticism of ego, freely admitted. Obsessives incarnate are the Jedi."

Obi-Wan looked up at him, his eyes speaking of his horror where his tongue was not allowed. Yes, his understanding of the ritual was growing, as he recognized some of his own thoughts given speech by his master. Again, the past rose to choke Qui-Gon as he remembered his own part in this ritual, his own pain, his own crisis of conscience. With iron control, he once again thrust it away. He continued to walk, moving stiffly as the cold got to him, thinking about Obi-Wan, no one else, living in this moment, no other.

Removing the tunic was a bit more difficult, but Qui-Gon never hesitated in his pacing. "The Jedi remove themselves from others, for fear of contamination. You hide behind rules and codes, telling yourself that you are better, that you, like all Jedi, serve the greater good." The tunic was dropped on the pile of clothing on the floor before Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan's eyes followed it down and then remained focused there. "The Jedi remove themselves from the general population, holding themselves up to be better than any. As you do: but it is nothing but snobbery, nothing but base contempt. To be an unfeeling automaton, you deny yourself the pleasure of living."

The pleasure of living. The pleasure of trusting that another will not hurt you, even to teach you, even to guide you. The pleasure of loving another and having that love returned. Qui-Gon had to clear his throat before he could speak again.

The trousers were secured by a cord at the front, and Obi-Wan had tied his in a neat bow. It made it easier for Qui-Gon to untie, which he did with a tug. They began to inch their way down over the chilled flesh of Obi-Wan's hips and legs. In his circuit, Qui-Gon noted Obi-Wan's shivering and felt a burst of sympathy. It was so cold. He could no longer feel his toes. 

"Jedi are pretentious and prudish. As a Jedi, you have no need for the pleasures of the flesh, since all emotion must be purged into the Force. You wear, as armor against the possibility of the contamination of feeling, clothing which tells the world what you are -- better than thou. It is a rigid and puritanical conceit that lifts you far above the unwashed masses."

The pants were now bunched up around Obi-Wan's feet. A single tear had worked out of his eye to drip carelessly down his cheek, but Obi-Wan kept his eyes on the floor beneath him, his lips pressed together in a thin, white line. His hands were still tight fists which trembled. 

Coming to a stop behind Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon put his hand in the middle of Obi-Wan's back, both dreading and anticipating what was coming. "The shame of a Jedi is the shame of self, the final insult to your body. Feeling is impossible. Caring is anathema. Duty is all. The Force commands." Moving quickly, he shoved the rough undershorts down Obi-Wan's legs. "You will kneel."

There was no grace in Obi-Wan's movement. He collapsed, almost in on himself, his knees coming to land in the clothing that Qui-Gon had deliberately left at his feet. His head bowed, Obi-Wan was little more than a lump of cold, pain-filled flesh, arms wrapped around himself, shoulders heaving, breath coming in short gasps. He bowed his head until it was nearly at the floor.

This was the most difficult part. Qui-Gon took himself out of his pants as he knelt and checked the plug inserted in Obi-Wan's anus. He hadn't been certain that he could actually do this, but now that he was here, he was surprised to note he was hard enough to penetrate, which was all he needed. Apparently, his flesh was not in perfect communion with his mind, and that bothered him. It was something he would have to have to think about, not that he wanted to, once the ritual was over. For now, he concentrated on his duty to his padawan and once again shoved nausea aside. 

With a gentle touch from his trembling fingers, Qui-Gon removed the plug, not missing Obi-Wan's choked moan as he did so. It had expanded to just over twice its original size, not quite as large as he was, but close. He had come prepared with a small vial of oil, which he used to coat himself, noting with a hard swallow how much his flesh was looking forward to the coming action. "Duty is all," he repeated in a hoarse and cracking voice. Dammit, he would not hurt his apprentice. "The Force commands."

Moving as slowly as he could, Qui-Gon entered Obi-Wan's quaking body. The channel was tight and hot and Qui-Gon was nearly distracted from his goal by the pleasure of the intercourse, by the wonder of entering the young man he loved so much. But Obi-Wan began to whimper very slightly, and his heart wrenched. One way or another, he would avoid hurting his padawan.

Managing to keep from thrusting by an act of will, Qui-Gon reached around Obi-Wan's torso with both arms, embracing his beloved student, lending Obi-Wan as much of his warmth as he could -- another breach from the ritual. "But there is more than pain in duty," he whispered into Obi-Wan's ear, and the shiver he felt through his student's body had nothing to do with the cold of the room. Qui-Gon tugged carefully, helping Obi-Wan to kneel up, his back against Qui-Gon's chest. One of his oily hands reached for Obi-Wan's half-hard penis and began to stroke it, even as he leaned forward and continued murmuring. "In duty, there can be found joy. In duty, there can be found pleasure. In duty, there can be found peace."

Obi-Wan gasped and his hands found Qui-Gon's arms, squeezing. His shaft began to fill, and Qui-Gon began a tentative thrusting movement even as he increased the motion of his hand. He spoke slowly, precisely, in a voice that was not much more than a rough murmur. "The Force asks us to be its agent, to obey its will. In doing so, we can find contentment. The Force does not ask us to sacrifice all, but we can joyously offer that up if we so wish." Obi-Wan was panting now, his cock hard and leaking, his head thrown back against Qui-Gon's shoulder and it was all Qui-Gon could do to avoid kissing the corded length of neck so close to his lips. He tried to thrust so that Obi-Wan would feel the greatest pleasure, while dimly aware that he was not going to be able to prevent his own climax. 

Once again, he was deviating from the ritual, and once again, he found he didn't care. If he had to do this to his student, then by the Force, Qui-Gon would see to it that his student found real pleasure in it.

And Obi-Wan was finding that pleasure, just as Qui-Gon was, pleasure that was hot and needy and almost... With a moan that was deep and heartfelt, Obi-Wan came, his hands clenching, his body shaking so hard it felt as though he might fly apart. The scent of his semen and the resultant spasms pushed Qui-Gon over the edge as well, and he was hard-pressed to remain upright. After a moment, he withdrew from Obi-Wan's body, immensely gratified to find no blood on his shriveling penis. He paused for a long moment to catch his breath before resuming the ritual.

Still trembling and gasping from his orgasm, Obi-Wan barely managed to stand when Qui-Gon urged him to do so. He took a few moments to hold Obi-Wan up, using his own sleeve to lightly blot the mingled sweat and semen on Obi-Wan's abdomen, making sure Obi-Wan's legs were steady before releasing him. With tender care, Qui-Gon began dressing his padawan, gently brushing Obi-Wan's hands away and wordlessly urging him to stand still. "A Jedi serves best when devotion to oneself is the foundation of that servitude," he said, drawing the undershorts up Obi-Wan's legs. "It is that devotion to self that is key, for all is futility without it."

Qui-Gon bent again and began working the trousers up Obi-Wan's long, well-muscled legs, pathetically grateful that he didn't have to maintain the voice of an outsider, an enemy, any longer. "Chastity is not evil, nor is it required of you. But keeping one's body sacrosanct is the mark of a true Jedi, the mark of decency and honor, not of prudishness. Do not presume to believe otherwise." But they did, Qui-Gon thought to himself. They did. Many Jedi behaved as though sex and loving was something base, something beneath them. Deep in his mind, Qui-Gon heard himself as a boy, and he wanted to weep for that lonesome child, the child who wanted so much more than his master could or would give him. 

The tunic was easier to get on than it was to remove. "The warrior's heart stands as a shield against the Dark. Yes, it removes you, as a Jedi, from the general population, but only to better serve. It is not necessary to divorce oneself from all feeling to be a Jedi, for the Jedi are but living creatures, as much as those they serve and protect." Obi-Wan's eyes were open and he was breathing hard. He studied Qui-Gon intently, his brows furrowed, clearly mulling Qui-Gon's words. His cheeks were still stained with hectic color and his body still trembled, though his skin was hot to the touch. His hands were no longer fists but were loose at his sides.

It was a struggle for Qui-Gon to maintain a calm, soothing tone in the face of his beautiful padawan's intent gaze. "A commitment to faith is required of a Jedi." Qui-Gon arranged the tabard carefully over Obi-Wan's shoulders, smoothing the coarse fabric with a gentle, loving touch. "Faith in the Force, faith in the Jedi, faith in yourself. A Jedi knows that he is a part of the universe, a part of the Force, no more than any other entity. Holding yourself at a remove from others is only to better protect them from harm, to draw that harm away."

The sash was long and took a while to wind around Obi-Wan's waist. "In a Jedi's commitment to faith, you experience a different sort of bondage, one of your own choice. As a Jedi, you are bound to serve, in service to the Force. You serve all, for all are a part of the Force. It is a commitment and a bond that is chosen freely; for a Jedi, for you, there can be nothing better." The voice of his conscience in the darkness of his soul whispered otherwise, but Qui-Gon had long practice in ignoring his own desires and wants.

The last part, and Qui-Gon's whole body felt as numb as his feet as he drew the robe around his padawan. "The robe of a Jedi protects you from that which would harm you. The robe gives you warmth, protection from the elements, and marks you as Jedi, so that others may know you come to them to help. A Jedi's robe is a Jedi's spirit made manifest -- plain and serviceable, warm and comforting, honest and forthright." Much as his apprentice was.

Leaving the hood down, Qui-Gon put his hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders. He regulated his breathing and made sure his eyes showed nothing but calm and peace. "Thus ends the Ritual of Affirmation. You are Jedi, and your calling will lead you to pain and insult at times. But we must always remember that it may also lead to the pleasure of a task well done, to the joy of knowing we have helped others -- but only if you allow it to do so." He looked deeply into Obi-Wan's eyes, as one of his thumbs brushed away that lone tear from Obi-Wan's cheek. "Do you understand?"

There was echoing silence in the room for a long time as they stood together, eye to eye, and Qui-Gon came to a remarkable, though not unexpected, realization himself, one that touched him deeply.

"Yes," Obi-Wan finally said. "I do understand." He lifted one hand and reverently traced Qui-Gon's cheekbone. "But there is more, isn't there? It's love. You didn't mention love at all, but it is love that defines us. Ultimately, it is love that heals us." The look Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon was sweetly honest and open, calm and giving, and Qui-Gon smiled through his painful joy to see it.

"Yes, Obi-Wan," he said, and his voice sounded rusty to his ears. "Yes. Though some may disagree, though some may say it is vanity, it is indeed love we serve, when all else will fail, when all else leaves us bereft. The Force is nothing but love, and it is love that makes us able to serve the Force, knowing it can be there, holding us." Knowing that his padawan, his Obi-Wan, hadn't been hurt by his master's actions.

"Waiting for us," Obi-Wan added, blinking in surprise. "I love you."

Qui-Gon smiled with the sad realization that the love Obi-Wan felt for him was but a poor shadow compared to the love Qui-Gon had suddenly recognized in himself. He had no intentions of letting Obi-Wan know how he felt, though, it wouldn't be fair to his student. Qui-Gon had long ago resigned himself to loving others quietly, without reciprocation. There was joy even in that, he well knew, joy he could take as he watched his heart grow and, some day, leave him. Obi-Wan truly was his heart, was the very center of him -- he was relieved beyond words that he hadn't hurt Obi-Wan the way he had feared. Could one live without a heart? Eventually, Qui-Gon would have to find out, but not quite yet. "I love you too, Padawan," was all he said, and it was the truth.

"No." When he would have turned, Obi-Wan stopped him. "No. That's not what I mean." The hand that had been caressing Qui-Gon's cheek now tangled in his hair, as Obi-Wan tugged. "I mean, I love you." 

Before he knew it, Obi-Wan's lips were on his, and Qui-Gon knew that his long wait was over.

* * *

  
In a sheltered garden of the Jedi Temple, there kneels a boy. His meditation over, his calm eyes open to find his master kneeling opposite him, studying him carefully, but without emotion. His master wears a uniform that is much as the padawan's, made from homespun material, but he wears shoes where his padawan is barefoot.

"Have you made your decision, Qui-Gon?" his master, Dooku, asks him.

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon Jinn replies.

end


End file.
